31 292
Not Near London
31
bike. ‘On the bypass?
Well well well,’ her mum
said, ‘no surprise there.’
But then her mum drives
everywhere like she’s in
a multi-storey car park.
The life classes were good
except for the times when
the elderly came to show
their naughty bits – but
she couldn’t complain, or
she’d risk being expelled
for age discrimination.
The black fineliner jiggles
and joggles, never still,
or only when it separates
from the rubbish surface
of the newspaper. Wales
and Scotland are cross-
hatchedshadows.Cornwall
is the outstretched leg
and the face glances at
her sideways from the
Lake District: it’s Gildor
Inglorion on his way from
Rivendell.
Jasper drops in a little
amoeba of black elfine
shadow a few inches
below the South Coast.
(The skill of the shadow-
maker, that’s what it’s all
about: forget the rest, he
always says.) Oh, cool, the
Isle of Wight! She’s never
been there, not even
for the festival, because
everyone on the island is
sixty-five and bright red
from yachting. He signs it
Jasper Crouch
. In ten years’
time it’ll be auctioned at
Christie’s, Suzie thinks,
smiling to herself. Half-
believing it. Jasper got a
head start, with a name
like Crouch. He doesn’t
just
think
he’s the shit, he
was born it.
England is leaping. A
creature of the dark dark
forest, leaping like a ballet
dancer.
What
makes
Jasper extra-special, as
a graphic artist, is the
mystery element beyond
the usual deftness. Not
exactly a cartoon, more an